Chapter Fourteen
Azizi
"There you go, ma'am. All fixed up and ready to go for you.” The older man—Mr. Taylor Gauthier, he’d introduced himself as—smiles at me from under the brim of his cap, rubbing the lingering oil residue from his work onto his trousers.
“Did some tuning for you too. Should sound real pretty-like now, if you want to give it a go.”
“Thank you, but I have actually had it fixed for someone else who is a much better pianist than I,” I tell him. Not a complete lie, though not the truth either. While I fully intend to make use of the instrument myself, I have no desire to do so for this stranger.
If he is bothered by my statement, he makes no show of it.
He tucks the rest of his tools back in his bag, hoists it over his shoulder, and taps the lid of the piano with his hand.
“Well, she should play well enough for such an old thing. Shame it's been sitting here for so long, and a miracle it’s not in worse condition, but it wasn't too difficult to fix up. If you have any extra trouble, you just send your man down to find me, and I’ll come take another look.”
"I appreciate your quick work and willingness to work around my schedule," I say politely. "I apologize for needing such a late hour, but I simply have no time during the day."
"Ah, it’s no problem, ma'am." The man waves a hand at me in polite dismissal, his smile tipping into something fond and love-struck instead.
"Keeps the missus happy, anyhow, I'm sure you understand.
Get paid extra for the late work, and she gets to buy a new fancy dress or some feathery monstrosity of a hat for it.
I don't mind the odd hours so long as it makes her happy in the end. "
“Regardless, I appreciate it.” I gesture to the door of the attic room where Allard awaits, his hands tucked behind his back and disinterest seeped into his wrinkled face.
“Mr. Allard will show you out and see to our agreed upon payment. You may leave your contact information with him in case I’ve need of any further assistance. ”
The gentleman offers a parting bow before following Allard back down the stairs, and it's not until the sound of the front door echoes in my ears that I'm crossing the small room to sit on the sturdy bench of the piano. I tuck the fallboard back with a quiet thunk, running my fingers over the smooth black and white keys with the familiarity of someone who hasn’t touched them in a number of years.
Despite a few of my siblings’ love for music—both Jonas and our sister, Carmilla, making it their life’s passion—I have never much cared for keeping up with the practice.
Jonas claims I play well enough and insists I accompany him anytime we are both at our father’s house, but it’s a distant sort of enjoyment I hold for the pianoforte.
Pleasant enough to continue doing, but nothing I hold to the esteem of my own pursuits in art.
Experimentally, I press one of the keys, and a loud, solid G-note echoes throughout the room.
Much more pleasant than the discordant ringing from before the tuner visited and restored the instrument to functionality.
Unsurprising, I suppose, as being left unused in a dusty attic would leave any instrument in dire need of care.
"I must apologize in advance for any mistakes I might make," I say aloud to the empty room as I set one of the handwritten manuscripts on the music stand.
It was one of her last collections, if Theodore's estimations are correct, and one that looked easy enough to play for someone unfamiliar with the piece as I am.
"My brother is more a music lover than I, and it has been quite some time since I've attempted to sight read. "
I have no way of knowing if Kolfina is in the room listening to me, but I am determined to take my brother and his friend's advice in speaking to her as if she were here.
At the very least, even if I will never be able to see her, I wish for the woman to feel welcome in what was once her home and what may still be long after even I have left it.
That first song is a beautiful thing, even with my hesitant fingering and my uncertain stumbling over notes and timings.
Though I do not attempt to sing the lyrics scribbled beneath the staves, they carve a beautiful tale of a little bird trapped in a cage much too small, with no room left to spread its wings.
It screams and sings through the bars, cries for help and attention when people pass near, and yet still it remains on its little perch. Nothing but a pet to coo and fawn at.
I wonder how much of the lyrics are born from the heart of their author, trapped in this little music room and so far removed from the rest of the world.
When the song is over, I take a moment to remember how to breathe.
To imagine what it might have been like to hear a master play it, to hear her play it.
Briefly, I entertain the idea of inviting Jonas over to play it for me.
He'd be all too eager to traipse his way up my mountain if I waggled an incredible unknown musician before him.
And yet there is something that keeps me from doing so. The idea of showing this to anyone else feels all too much like a betrayal, especially considering I cannot even see the woman to know her thoughts on the matter.
What right do I have to hide my own art away from prying eyes if I take something Kolfina is so clearly passionate about and show it to someone else?
There must have been a reason I’ve never heard her music before, a reason I’ve never so much as heard her name when my brother knows each and every musician worth knowing on the continent.
Is she like Theodore? Who hides his stories and poems close to his chest, never letting that little book out of his sight? Or is she like me? Who tried once, who gave in to the encouragement and pressure of those who believed in me, only to have my passions spat back in my face for daring?
So I do not invite my brother to visit, and I do not think about my hidden gallery or the reasons for which it is hidden.
Instead, I sit myself down each night after Theodore leaves, and I put to work all those hours and days and years that my tutors drilled lessons into my head. I straighten my posture as Jonas would have; I practice the runs and the ditties to warm up.
And I play for her.
I’m not quite sure how many nights go by with this same ritual, but by the time I make it to the very last song in the manuscript, I am sure she is not going to show.
Oh, how wrong I am.
I have barely fumbled my way through a complicated coda of the song, flinching as I press what is clearly too sharp of a final note, when a deep chill reverberates within my bones and sends me gasping.
A pale hand reaches into my vision, and while I cannot feel her presence aside from the cold, I watch as she points to a different key than the one I had played.
I try the section again from the beginning, a bit more fluid, yet still clearly unfamiliar beneath my fingers.
The final note rings out around me, echoing through the halls and curling through the wallpaper as if in harmony with the very house itself.
For a moment, I swear the walls are breathing, drawing in a roomful of air then releasing it with a gentle, almost contented sigh.
When I glance up, Kolfina is sitting beside me, a longing so deep in her eyes that I find myself nearly falling into it.
Her fingers trip over the keys of the pianoforte, not quite touching them, but not sinking through them either, and there is a smile on her lips, so small I nearly miss it. It is beautiful. She is beautiful.
"Hello, it's so good to finally meet you."
Hazel eyes meet mine, the colour of them slightly faded and dull, like a painting that has faced a western window too long and is now washed out from the sun's light.
Still, she is a lovely thing, with her golden curls and her soft blue skirt, and I feel honored to finally see her in person.
She does not speak, but I do not expect her to. Theodore already informed me that she lacks the ability, so I am not surprised when she touches her fingertips to her lips and then to the air above my chest, as if to say she wishes to repeat my greeting.
"I feel I must apologize to you profusely," I say earnestly, and when her eyebrows furrow, I gesture to her manuscript with a self-deprecating smile.
"You are quite the composer, and yet you've had to listen to me butcher your music.
It was the only way I could think of to draw a connection to you.
I am not quite as… friendly and vocal as our darling Theodore is. "
Kolfina's shoulders shake slightly, her eyes crinkling, and I get the idea that she is giggling at me. She gestures to the music sheet again, something expectant in her gaze.
"You wish to hear it again?" She nods, and I gracefully dip my head in acquiescence.
"Very well, though I beg you not judge me too harshly.
My brother and our eldest sister received all the musical talent in the family.
I'm afraid I only learned out of obligation.
But never let it be said that I didn't give in to the whims of a beautiful woman. "
A clouded, rosy tint dusts across the freckled expanse of Kolfina's nose and cheeks, and my fingers once again itch for my paints and canvas. Desperate with the need to paint her.
I put them instead to black and white keys and attempt to focus on the task before me, rather than the cool presence beside me.
I am loathe to make a fool of myself when I have been granted such a treasured boon as the attention of the dead.